All That is not Mine
by Tomoe2
Summary: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 12 AND 13 Cas is gone and Dean finds that just going through the motions just isn't helping him get better this time. On a nightmare filled night, he searches the bunker's medicine cabinet. What he discovers will change him in ways he couldn't possibly imagine.
1. Chapter 1

"Goodbye, Cas."

Dean's words rang clear in the chill of the night. Sam shivered despite the fire. He could feel Jack's curious gaze on him. He stifled tears. He didn't want to scare or confuse the boy. Right now, he didn't know what the nephilim would be capable of. He didn't know if he was good or evil. What he knew, however, is that having something to busy his mind with was the best way to keep himself from falling apart. He gave his brother a sidelong glance. Dean's face appeared gaunt in the light of the dancing flames. Dark circle gave his eyes a sunken expression. Suddenly, all those years of hunting, all those losses, all the pain had surfaced. He hadn't spoken a word since they'd returned to the house. Sam worried. Dean had prepared Cas' body all by himself, insisting on setting up the pyre alone. He hadn't cried. Or at least, he didn't look like he had.

"How long do we say goodbye for?"

Jack's innocent question brought back Sam to reality. He felt Dean tense next to him.

"As long as we feel we need to," he explained, giving his brother another furtive glance. He sniffled. "Come, let's go back in the house and see what we can pack."

Sam took the nephilim by the shoulder and lead him back to the house.

"Is Dean alright?"

The boy stopped in his tracks and turned back towards Dean. Sam shook his head and pinched his lips.

"Let's not worry about Dean right now. Come on."

Dean stared at the blaze. He would stay until Cas… Until _it_ had burnt out. He couldn't bear to say it, let alone think it. He didn't want to. He couldn't. Doing so would make it real. They would bring him back. They would find a way. They would… While he had wrapped him in his makeshift shroud, Dean had kept praying that his best friend would come back, that he would suddenly gasp for air and ask him what on earth he was doing. But he hadn't. Deep down, Dean understood the finality of Cas' demise. There was to be no come back, no relief filled accolades. The weight of this knowledge sat uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach, making him queasy. He'd caught a glance of his reflection in the window pane as he had taken the body out. He'd not recognised his face at first. Had he always looked so haggard? The fire crackled. A few logs shifted. Dean looked straight ahead and clenched his fists.

xxxx

They'd arrived at the bunker around noon. Dean hadn't slept but had still insisted on driving. Sam had tried to draw him out of his silence a few times. He'd shut him down. He didn't want to talk. Especially not in front of that kid. He could barely tolerate his presence. He wasn't about to go full chick flick in front of that spawn of Lucifer. There wasn't anything to talk about anyway. Talking wouldn't change what was. Crowley was gone. Mom was gone. Cas was…

Dean walked out of the kitchen a twelve pack of beer in hand. In the hallway, he came across Sam who eyed him with concern but didn't say anything. He avoided his eyes. He knew only one way to fill the gaping hole in his chest, and that was alcohol. It had always worked and it would work this time, too. Hopefully. He closed the door of his room behind him and set the beers on his night stand. It would warm up before he could go through it all but by the time he'd drunk the 6th one, it wouldn't matter anymore. He slowly undressed, changing into an old t-shirt and comfy training pants. He propped his pillows, sat in his bed, and grabbed his headset. He pressed play and uncapped a beer. He closed his eyes, sat back, and drank.

 _Castiel stepped out of the rift in space and time. He smiled at the brothers. It was done. It was all done. It would come, finally, Heaven on earth. Dean sighed. It was over. It was going to be ok._

" _I thought you were dead!" he exclaimed, walking towards his friend._

 _As he extended his arms arms to embrace the angel, Lucifer stepped out of the breach. The blade pierced Castiel with a searing blue light. His eyes lit up, burning up in a white flame._

" _Noooooo!" screamed Dean._

He woke up with a start. His half finished beer rolled off the bed, shattering on the floor. His t-shirt was drenched with sweat. His headset had slid off his head. He could hear the distant sound of classic rock over the beating of his own heart. His head didn't hurt yet. He looked at the night stand: three more beers. He reached out and grabbed the closest one. He uncapped it and drank. I was disgustingly lukewarm. He took another drag. This party wasn't over.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He extended his arm and flushed. He felt the cold of the toilet seat on his left cheek. His head pounded. A thin sheen of sweat gleamed on his forehead. The whiskey had been a bad idea.

He groaned and shifted. The room spun. He leaned forward. Nothing came up. He slumped back down, his head hit the wall. He swore. Slowly, cautiously, he brought his knees to his chest and rested his throbbing forehead on them.

He realised he must have fallen asleep when he was awoken by the sound of water running in the sink. He lifted his head. The bright white light forced him to look away. He grunted.

"Rough night?" said Sam.

"Shhhhhhhh" managed Dean. His brother might as well have been yelling through a loudspeaker.

"That bad?" came the answer, in a hushed tone.

Despite his state, he could tell that Sam was trying his best - and failing miserably - to hide his concern. He prayed that he wouldn't try to "talk things through." He was surprised when he felt smooth, cold glass against his forearm. He grabbed the cup without looking up. Instead, he stared straight ahead at the tiled wall and took a small sip. His stomach protested. He braced for another episode. It passed. He drank some more.

Sam turned the light off. Dean sighed.

"You should check the infirmary. I think I saw some kind of "hair of the dog" concoction on the shelves the other day. It's probably old, but when has that stopped you?" he laughed a mirthless laugh.

 _When indeed?_

He didn't know how much time had elapsed since Sam had left. He had finished the water. He felt that it would now be safe to get up. Probably. Using the wall and the toilet bowl, he hoisted himself up to a shaky stance. He stumbled but caught himself. He took a deep breath.

 _I got this._

He poured himself another glass of water, grateful for the darkness. He didn't want to see what he looked like. Not that he'd especially enjoyed his reflection for the last few years, but he doubted that his antics had made any improvement. He drank slowly, in long drags. The water was icy. He pressed the glass against his forehead. Being in this state had its perks, he thought. For the last however how many hours his drunken stupor had lasted, he had been able forget everything. He wondered for a moment if he should really sober up or just grab more beer. His stomach rose at the thought. Maybe later.

The infirmary reminded him of these WWII movies that would play late at night in the cheap motels they used to stay at. He liked to imagine that a cute girl with cherry-red lips and victory rolls would appear from behind the dividers in a crisp uniform and ask him what she could do for him. He couldn't get the energy to smile at the thought. He opened the medicine cabinet and rummaged through. Aside from the stuff they had added themselves, most of the medicine looked suspicious and way passed its expiry date. He grabbed a small glass bottle and shook it. The contents rattled. He looked at the label. It was faded beyond recognition. He poked around some more but failed to find anything he would actually risk putting inside his body. He was about to give up when he spotted a larger bottle in the back corner. He took it out.

The blue liquid was still surprisingly vivid considering this was mouthwash from over 6 decades ago, if the label was to be trusted. He considered it for a moment. Now that he thought about it, his mouth did taste like crap. Plus mouthwash was mostly alcohol, which was an added bonus. Without a second thought, he uncapped the bottle, took a swig, and started to swish. He immediately regretted his decision. That stuff was vile. Had he not puked his guts out earlier he would definitely have been sick. He ran to the sink, spat, and swore. That definitely wasn't mouthwash. He left the bottle on the side of the sink and headed for the door. Suddenly, he felt the floor grow soft under his feet. He grabbed onto the side of a nearby table only in time to break his fall. He collapsed in what felt like slow motion.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Dean sat at the end of the quay. The sun made the ripples on the lake shimmer. The breeze was cool but his flanel kept him comfortably warm. He'd cast a line a while back but the fish simply weren't biting. He was ok with that. He took a swig of beer. It was chilled to perfection.

"This is all so peaceful," said Castiel as he sat down in the adirondack chair next to the hunter.

Dean nodded. He grabbed a beer from the cooler and handed it to the angel. In the distance, a loon cried.

"We should do this more often," said Dean.

"Definitely."

A long moment of comfortable silence went by. Castiel cast a line next to Dean's. Nothing bit.

Suddenly, a feeling of unease took over Dean. He turned to his companion.

"Cas, where are we? I can't remember even getting here."

The angel shrugged.

"Does it matter?"

Dean shook his head and leaned back against the warm wood of the chair. He closed his eyes, trying to enjoy the moment, but he simply couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong.

"Dean! Dean!"

He opened his eyes slowly. Someone was shaking him by the shoulder. He shivered. He looked up to see Sam staring at him.

"Where am I?"

Sam frowned.

"You're on the floor of the infirmary. You ok?" his voice dripped with concern.

Dean propped himself on his elbow, still disoriented, then sat up. He rubbed his face.

"I'm ok. I guess I just feel asleep. I'll go get some proper shut eye."

Sam helped him get up. He would normally have shaken him off, but although he hated to admit it, he really needed support right now. His limb felt numb and the floor still had this lingering softness to it. He walked out of the room but not without casting a last furtive glance at the bottle of blue liquid he had left by the sink.

The bunker had the wonderful power of making you unaware of the time of day. Dean woke up in the darkness, unaware of how long he'd been out. What was clear however is that he had now completely sobered up, which meant that all his worries had all come back, weighing his soul once again. He grunted and turned to his side, pulling the blanket over his head. Maybe he could sleep a little more. His bladder told him otherwise.

He came back from the bathroom and sat on the edge of his bed. He carded his fingers through his hair and sighed. He wondered what had happened in the infirmary. He couldn't shake the feeling that that blue crap had done something to him. That dream with Cas hadn't felt like a dream at all. It had felt real, painfully so now that the reality of the angel's death made itself felt again. His eyes prickled and his chest tightened. He groaned angrily. No. He wouldn't allow himself to wallow in this. They were.. gone. Gone. Gone.

He found Sam sitting in the kitchen distractedly munching on what was left of a green salad while scrolling on his phone. He looked up at him a look of concern on his face.

"Feeling better?"

Dean grunted from behind the fridge door. He grabbed a plate of bacon and sausages, sniffed it and, satisfied, brought it to the table. He sat down.

After a while, Sam cleared his throat.

"Are we going to talk about what happened in the infirmary?"

"Nope," replied Dean his mouth full.

Sam sighed.

"Alright."

"What are you looking at?" asked the older Winchester, gesturing at Sam's phone with a piece of bacon.

"Nothing," he said, too fast.

"Are you looking into ways to save mom?"

Dean stared at his brother. He could feel his anger brewing. Sam sustained his gaze.

"If we're not talking about the infirmary, we're not discussing my search history."

Dean snorted then shook his head.

"Fair enough."

He stood up. His vision blurred. He lost balance.

 _Dean. Where are you?_

As he stumbled he grabbed the side of the table and steadied himself. Sam frowned.

"You sure you ok?"

Dean waved his hand at him dismissively.

"I'm fine. I'm going back to my room."

Dean walked out of the kitchen and as soon as he'd turned the corner, he leaned against the cold tile wall. He was sure he hadn't imagined it. He'd heard it. Castiel's voice. In that split second, he'd felt so much heat it was as if he had caught fire. He brought his hands up. They shook badly. He had no doubts now; this was definitely related to the blue liquid.

"Are you alright, Dean."

He looked up. Jack was looking at him, his head slightly cocked to one side.

He couldn't muster the energy to get angry and just walked away.

xxx

The blue liquid sat on his desk in its glass bottle. Dean sat on his bed, observing it from afar. What was this thing? He had felt its burning pull several more times during the day. Every single time, he'd heard Cas call to him. What if this allowed him to open a portal to reach the angel? It went against all the lore, but the lore had been wrong so many times it was worth the risk. If it meant contacting Cas, anything would be worth it.

He could have asked Sam to help but he didn't want to involve his brother in this. He also felt ashamed to admit to doing something to reach out to Castiel when he kept telling his brother to give up on their mother. But this was different. He had felt Cas. Maybe he could bring him back… He shook his head. He knew better than to entertaining thoughts that would only bring him disappointment. And yet…

He got up. There was only one way to find out. He'd thought this over. According to his calculations, if a swish had put him under for just a few moment, a swig might give him just enough time to establish contact. He grabbed the bottle and unstoppered it. He poured a finger in a small shot glass.

"Here goes nothing."

He gulped down the shot. A curtain of darkness fell on the world.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The colours of the setting sun reflected on the parts of the lake that were not already covered by a thin layer of mist. Oranges bled into reds and pinks with purple gradually chasing them behind the mountains. In the distance a warbler and a mockingbird sang their evening melodies, as if calling to each other. Once in a while, a lone loon chimed in. Dean pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. The wool was rough and smelled of campfires. In the brasero next to his adirondack chair, the wood shifted and the wood crackled.

"Pretty amazing that there are no mosquitos around," he remarked.

On his left, wrap in his own blanket, Castiel nodded.

"A perfect night." He smiled at Dean. "Should we go back in? We still have the pie waiting for us."

The Winchester looked at the lake, now completely covered with mist. In the sky, a few stars had appeared.

"Let's wait just a little more."

The angel nodded

Once the sky had turned completely dark and the only light remaining was that of he stars, the two men got up, put out the fire, and headed for the cabin wearing their blankets like capes. Castiel, who walked a few steps behind, suddenly ran up to Dean and pulled the blanket over his head before taking lead.

"Last one in gets no pie!" he yelled, as he ran.

"You're cheating!" laughed Dean as he fixed his blanket and watched the angel run ahead of him without looking back.

He paused for a moment and looked straight up. The milky way was visible. What a gorgeous night, he thought.

When he got to the cabin, Cas had put the pie in the oven to warm it up and set plates on the kitchen island. Dean hopped and sat on the counter. He surveyed the spacious living room and dining room, the high ceiling supported by dark wooden beams, and the floor to ceiling windows. A truly great space. Cas came to lean against the counter next to him.

"What should we watch tonight?" he asked.

He was so close Dean could smell him. A mix of mint and pine.

"We can just turn on the oldies channel. I feel like a black and white classic, what do you say?"

Cas smiled.

"Sounds good"

They'd turned off all the lights and settled on the couch with the pie. Cas had finished his slice and set this plate on the coffee table. Dean was still working on his third slice. On the screen, Casablanca flashed in black and white. The Winchester was taking his last bite when he felt a cushion being set in his lap. He looked down just in time to see Cas comfortably settle down his head, shifting that way and this to make sure he could see the screen. All the while, Dean kept his elbows up, fork in one hand, plate in the other. Once the angel had finally stopped fidgeting, Dean set his cutlery down on the table, purposefully squeezing his companion's head between his chest and the cushion. Muffled laughter escaped Cas as he weakly fought back. Dean finally relented and leaned back. On the screen Rick talked to Ilsa. Dean wrapped his arm around Cas' shoulder and with his other hand, he carded through his soft hair. The angel sighed.

Dean would have been hard pressed to say how long they'd spent on the couch but the movie had ended. Or at least he thought so, for the tv screen was off. He looked around. Where was he? He didn't recognise the place. His heart almost stopped when he saw Cas' head in his lap. He shook his friend.

"Cas!"

The angel stirred and propped himself on his elbow. He craned his neck at Dean.

"What?"

Dean's brow furrowed.

"You were _asleep_? What the hell, Cas! You don't sleep!"

He got up, bringing his hands to his head.

"What is this place?"

Cas sat up.

"Dean. Calm down."

The man backed away.

"Why were you sleeping in my lap? What is this place?"

"Dean, please."

Cas stood up. Dean back away farther, knocking the television down. Before he could say anything, a angel blade emerged from the angels chest. Blinding light exploded out of his eyes and mouth.

Dean gasped awake. He jumped to his feet. He was back in his room. A knock on the door startled him.

"Dean?" came Sam's voice. "Everything alright?"

"I heard a crash. You sure you're ok?"

Dean looked around; it seemed like his hand had gotten tangled with the cord of his desk lamp and he'd knocked it to the floor.

"All good. I'm fine."

"You su.."

"Go to bed, Sammy," replied Dean curtly.

He listened. Sam lingered at the door for a moment but soon he heard his steps fading in the hallway and the sound of his bedroom door close.

Dean sat on his bed and sighed. He looked at the blue liquid on his desk. He could have knocked it over with the lamp. He needed to put it away in a safer container. Whatever it was, it was allowing to get in touch in Cas. He actually didn't care what this thing was; what mattered was that it worked. He decided that he needed to get better at controlling his emotions in whatever plane it took him to. If this was angel heaven or whatever place angels went to when they died, he needed to be able to make Cas realise where he was. Hopefully, that would be the first step to finding a solution to get him back.

That night, he slept a dreamless sleep but woke up feeling groggy and feverish. He had to reason with himself not to drink some of the blue liquid again. There was around half a quart left and he knew that he would need to conserve as much of it as possible to maximize his "trips." After grabbing a black coffee, he headed for the library. He would first look into lucid dreaming; hopefully he would pick up some tricks that would help him pierce through.

When Sam walked in, he was surprised to find his brother surrounded by piles of dusty books. Dean didn't notice him, focused as he was over a tattered journal, jotting down notes in a small notebook.

"Did you find a case?" he asked.

The older Winchestered looked up, his head moving slowly. His face was red and a sheen of sweat covered his forehead.

"What?" he asked, his tongue thick.

Sam frowned.

"Did you eh… smoke something?"

Dean grimaced.

"Why would you think that?"

"You eyes, are pretty bloodshot, Dean. Are you sure you're…"

Suddenly, he shot up, his sluggishness replaced with swiftness.

"I'm fine. Stop asking. There's a lot of dust on those books, my eyes got itchy; I must have scratched them. What's up? Going somewhere?"

He pointed Sam's jacket.

"Ah, uhm, yeah. I was going to take Jack out. He could use a change of scenery…" _and so could you_ , he added, mentally.

"Good. Well I'm staying here. See you later."

With that, he sat back down and pored over his book again. Sam sighed. He had to be patient. Dean would eventually talk. Hopefully.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

He'd transferred the liquid in two 8z flasks. He hoped that only the content of one would be necessary and had stored the other one away in a hidden compartment in his closet. He sat on his bed again, flask in hand. His notebook was closed on his desk; his research hadn't yielded much. All the lucid dreaming tips would require too much time to implement before they actually became useful and as for angel heaven, he hadn't found anything but conjectures from the old men of letters' diaries. Their conclusions were pretty depressing, that there was no such thing as a heaven for celestial being or demons, which didn't align with that Dean had seen at all. Something bugged him. Something inside his mind was trying to tell him something but in his feverish state, he couldn't focus. He'd been able to resist the calls for part of the morning but now they came at shorter and shorter intervals.

 _Dean, where are you?_

 _Dean, I'm waiting for you._

 _Dean... I need you._

The last one had troubled him the most. He hadn't heard it before, and he found its pull irresistible. He fiddled with the cap of the flask, fingers trembling, movement excruciatingly slow one moment, then sickeningly quick the next. He poured some of the liquid in the shot glass he'd used the previous night. He'd traced a line on it, an approximation of the amount he'd taken before. He added just a little more. He would trace another line if the dose needed to increase again.

With difficulty, he capped the flask and set it on the floor next to the bed. Hands shaking, he put the shot glass on his night stand. He then grabbed an old stuffed teddy bear he'd found somewhere in the bunker, he couldn't remember exactly where. Things were little fuzzy but he had the vague feeling that it had belonged to Charlie. He started to tape it to his left hand. The one useful tip he'd gotten was from the diary of a man who seemed so eager on finding shortcuts for everything that he must have been an awful person to be around. According to him, in order to realise that you were dreaming, it helped to hold on to an object you normally wouldn't have on your person. Seeing it in the dream would create a sudden disconnect an allow the person to realise that they were actually, from that point on, lucid dreaming. Dean was pretty sure it wouldn't work but he had nothing to lose. He'd decided to tape the thing to his hand because he was having motor control difficulties and was certain he would drop the damned thing as soon as he crossed over.

Finally ready, he leaned back on his bed, propped by cushions, and reached for the blue liquid.

 _Here goes nothing_.

It was morning. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the dim light. The mattress was soft and comfortable under him. The comforter weighed just right on his naked body. He sighed. Maybe he would just fall back asleep. He turned to lie on his back, covering his eyes with his forearm. He suddenly noticed the quiet pitter-patter of the rain on the roof and the skylight, each giving off a slightly different sound. He listened for a while, lulled by the peaceful melody of nature. After a while, he noticed another sound, a regular, slow, deep breath. At the same moment, the faint scent of pine tickled his nose. He uncovered his eyes and opened them, blinking a few time. Without wasting more than a second to look at grey sky, he shifted to his side. He smiled. Next to him, Cas was lost in deep sleep. His hair was tousled, just like Dean liked it. His mouth was slightly open, his lips twisted in a funny way by the pillow. Dean chuckled to himself. The angel's right hand was twisted under his body. Gently, he tried to free it so that Cas wouldn't wake up to pins and needles, as he often did. He truly was the worse sleeper. At time, he moved so much he would push Dean off the bed in his sleep. Dean smiled. He loved watching him sleep. Propping himself on his elbow, he moved in closer to kiss his nose. He was less than an inch away when a sound came from lower under the blankets.

"Aww dude, no!" Grimaced Dean.

A smile crept on Cas' lips, his eyes still closed. Dean pushed him. He immediately regretted his decision. The smell was horrendous.

"Oh, God! I got a mouthful! I swear I can _taste_ it!"

Cas' eyes were now open and he was giggling uncontrollably. Dean tried to run away but the angel grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back in.

"There is not escaping me, Winchester."

He let out another fart.

"DUDE, STOP FARTING!"

He tried to get away again but Cas held on tight.

"I swear to God you smell worse than Hell."

That sent Cas into another fit of laughter. Dean struggled to get free but eventually managed. He had almost made it off the bed when the angel grabbed him by the leg and pulled him back in. By this point, he had also started to laugh.

The two men roughhoused for a few minutes until Dean finally managed to pin down Cas to the bed by sitting on his bare bum.

"You better not fart," he warned, chuckling.

Cas' response was lost in the comforter. He wiggled, forcing Dean off of him. The man lay on his back next to his lover, head resting on his hands, eyes following the pattern of the rain on the skylight. Cas turned to his side, facing him.

"I guess we're not going to fish today," said Dean

Cas kissed him gently on the shoulder. He turned his head and responded with a kiss on the angel's forehead. Cas scooted closer, putting his leg on top of Dean's, his arm across the man's chest, and snuggling his head in the crook of his neck. The man leaned his head against the angel's. He breathed in the musky scent of his hair.

"We could drive to the village for breakfast," mused Dean.

Cas was kissing his neck, his hips slowly rocking back and forth, his erection rubbing against the side of his leg. Dean felt his body respond immediately. He shifted to his side and gave the angel and slow, deep kiss. When they finally pulled their lips apart, Dean saw the desire in Cas' eyes.

"Or we could stay in," he volunteered with a soft smile.

Cas teased him with a kiss.

"I think I would like that very much," he replied.

Following their lovemaking, they'd taken a shower, which had only ended up leading to more carousing. Cas had just stepped out, leaving his lover to enjoy the hot water jets as he prepared breakfast. Dean stood with his eyes closed directly under the showerhead, delectably sore. The temperature was perfect. This house was a blessing. And so was Cas. He sighed. He was disgustingly happy. The thought made him laugh. Yes, this level of happiness was unreal.

He fumbled with the tap, turning the water off. He wiped the water off his face with his hand, finally opening his eyes. He started. There was a teddy bear on one of the shower shelves. It was completely drenched. He frowned. What was that doing there?

"Cas, did you put that in the shower?" asked Dean, a towel wrapped around his hips, brandishing the teddy bear.

Cas looked up from the stove. He squinted, tilting his head slightly.

"What is that?"

" It was in the shower…" replied Dean, as he walked towards the angel.

"Aaaah! Dean! You're treading water all over the floor. Did you even dry yourself? You'll ruin the varnish!" Cas grabbed a dish towel and shooed Dean back to the bathroom. He wiped the floor behind the man.

Back in the bathroom, Dean started towelling himself. Why had he even gone to the kitchen? He couldn't quite remember.

Dressed up in an old t-shirt and jeans, Dean sat at the kitchen table and helped himself to pancakes. He doused them in maple syrup and ate with appetite. Across the table, Cas looked at him affectionately.

"Much better than what the village has to offer, wouldn't you say?" he asked.

Dean looked up from his plate, his mouth full. His smile suddenly faded. There was a teddy bear sitting on the table, right next to Cas' plate. He almost choked.

"Where did that come from?" he asked.

Cas looked at the toy.

"This? I don't know. I thought you put it there."

He grabbed it and inspected it.

"It's pretty cute. Is it for me?" he smiled.

Dean put his fork down. This thing wasn't supposed to be there. There was something about it. Something he needed to remember. A sharp pain flashed behind his right eye and above his ear. He yelped.

"Dean! Are you ok?"

He shook his head. The bear. He was supposed to remember something. He grabbed his head in his hands. Cas suddenly was next to him, trying to pull his hands away. The man groaned. The excruciating pain was making him nauseous. Was he having an aneurysm?

"Dean! Oh God. I'm gonna call 911," he heard Cas say in a distressed voice.

Dean grabbed Cas' arm before he could move away. Suddenly, he felt a pop in his head and the pain was gone. At least, the pain in his head was. He felt awashed with such crushing sadness that it made him reel. He looked up at the angel.

"Cas. You're dead."

"What?" said Castiel.

"Listen to me. You're dead. I don't know what this place is but it's not reality."

"Dean you're talking nonsense. Let me call 911."

He tried to walk away but the man strengthened his grip.

"Listen to me. You died. I saw it, with my own eyes. Lucifer killed you."

He got up and stumbled. He steadied himself on the table. The floor was getting wobbly again.

"Dean, please. Let's go to the hospital. You're not making any sense."

Castiel's eyes were filled with fear.

"I don't have much time. I'm still trying to figure this out."

His legs buckled. Cas caught him before he collapsed.

"Listen. I'm coming for you Cas. Please, wait for me. I'll find a way."

Dean woke up disoriented. His head throbbed and he was covered in cold sweat. He could feel an unmistakable stickiness in his boxers.

"Ah man," he groaned, reaching for his pants only to realise something was attached to his hand. When he saw the bear, he was shocked into remembering where he was and what had just transpired. It had worked.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Hey, Jody. Sorry I missed your call. We just got back to the bunker."

"Everything alright?" she asked.

"I wouldn't exactly say that…"

Sam looked behind him to make sure he was really alone in the armoury.

"Is it Jack?" asked Jody.

"Jack is… fine" he replied. He then proceeded to give her a rundown of what had happened with Donatello and Asmodeus.

"My God... Sorry, Sam. I would have helped if I'd gotten your call in time. I had to smooth things out with fellow cops and get Claire out of custody...again."

Sam imagined Jody shaking her head.

"Sorry about that, seems like you have your hands full, too. This is uh…"

He looked around; the door was still closed but he thought he'd heard a sound.

"Sam, are you ok?"

He switched the phone to his left hand and started rummaging through the duffle bag.

"I'm uh, fine. Listen I don't want to burden you with more than you need. This is not about what just happened so..."

"Sam Winchester, don't pull a Dean on me. Speak."

Sam sighed.

"It's actually about Dean. He's been acting… weird."

"Considering he's just lost his mother and his best friend that's to be expected, but I assume you mean weirder?" asked Jody.

Sam took a box of cartridges from one of the shelves and moved it to the table. Wedging the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he started transferring some to the ammo case of the duffle bag.

"Yeah… Listen, I don't know how to say this but, you're a cop, and you deal with teenagers on a daily basis so, I assume you know your fair share about drugs?"

Jody laughed.

"More than I care to know."

"If I gave you symptoms, would you be able to tell me what drug does that?"

"I could try, but some drugs have similar effects… Wait, are you telling me you think Dean is doing drugs?"

"I know it sounds crazy. I thought I was imagining things at first but there is something going on."

"Wow, ok. What are the symptoms?"

Sam closed the box of ammo and returned it to the shelf, taking the phone in his hand again.

"At first I thought it was the booze, you know, the usual, but it can't be because he hasn't touched the thing in about a week."

"Definitely something wrong," said Jody.

"Right? Then he started looking feverish all the time. He's always complaining of the heat, he's constantly sweating, and he loses balance quite a bit. He hasn't been eating much either. He spends all his time in his room, and one night, I walked in on his lying on his bed, eyes wide open. I swear to God, Jody, I thought he was dead."

His voice cracked. He tucked his hair behind his ear and switched the phone to that side.

"Sam…"

He ignored her.

"He didn't even wake up when I called out his name. I had to shake him back to reality. And the weirdest part is he had a teddy bear taped to his hand."

"What?" asked Jody.

"Yeah. When I asked him what was going on he yelled at me, telling me to mind my own business, the usual stuff. He was so agitated that I thought better to leave him be."

He sighed.

"He's acting weird, Jody, and he's very aggressive toward Jack. For the last few days, while we were away, we were almost always together and Jack was around, too, so we would have seen something, but nothing happened. So whatever he's taking, I don't think he touched it on the road, but we've been back for a few hours now and he's already hidden in his room. I just..."

His voice broke again, and this time tears rolled out on his cheeks. He covered his eyes with his free hand and took a deep breath, trying to get his emotions under control.

"Sam…" Said Jody, softly.

"I'm trying so hard to take care of Jack, and I feel like… Like I'm failing both him and Dean and…"

He swallowed a sob.

"Sam, listen to me, ok? I think you're really tired right now. You've taken on Jack's care all on your own and you're trying to handle Dean on top of that. You need to rest. Did you even get time to process what happened, with Cas and your mother?"

Sam let out a shaky breath.

"No," he said in a thick voice. "But I don't have the time for that right now."

"Bullshit. Listen to me, ok? I will look into this. Is there anything else weird you've noticed?"

He snorted and wiped his face.

"He had a shot glass on his night stand. That normally wouldn't be weird in itself but there was a bright blue residue in it. Dean is not one to drink liqueur. Other than that, no."

"Ok, bright blue, noted. Now what I want you to do is to go take a nice hot shower and go to bed. Can you do that for me? Take a tablet if you have to ok?"

"I will. Thank you, Jody. I'm sorry to bother you like this."

"Nonsense. The Winchesters are my boys, and I take care of my boys. Now go to bed Sam. I will call you as soon as I have something."

"Goodnight, Jody. Thanks again."

"Don't mention it. Take care, Sam."

Jody hung up. Sam grabbed the edge of the table, phone still in hand, and leaned forward with a sigh. He wasn't tired; he was exhausted.

xxxx

Dean sat on the edge of his bed, playing with the flask. He hadn't crossed over in three days. Five, if he didn't count his aborted session. He'd barely spent what felt like 5 minutes with Cas when Sam had brought him back. The awakening had been rough. He'd expected to be able to cross over again once Sam had left him alone, but instead he's been stuck in Limbo, lying half awake and half asleep, his body and mind feverish, his stomach constantly menacing to revolt.

That had been his first attempt since the teddy bear trick had worked. He'd been happy to see positive results, of course, but once the dust had settled, he'd felt more and more unsettled with what had happened in that other realm. He'd been intimate with Cas. He'd been intimate and it had felt completely natural. Not only natural: it had felt right. And his underwear had been the proof that it had felt good. This disturbed more than he cared to admit. He'd never been bothered by other people's sexuality, but had never really questioned his own. He'd always been with women and had never felt attracted to a man before. Well, if he didn't include Dr. Sexy. But that was from the realm of fiction, and he'd never fantasized about him in a sexual way. Was it even fair to consider Cas to be a man? He couldn't say. What was more important, however, was that he'd never really questioned his feelings for Cas. He'd always seen him as a brother, but could he have been wrong? Could there have been more under that fraternal devotion? What did their special bond truly mean? Each time he examined a question, it only lead to more. Unable (and maybe unwilling) to come to terms with what had happened, he'd decided not to drink the blue liquid anymore. He poured what was left of it in the sink, but still kept the flask hidden in his closet. Maybe it would simply best to follow his own counsel and let what was dead stay dead. However things were never that simple and so he'd kept his stash as a backup plan.

The withdrawal symptoms had been quick to rear their ugly heads. Their intensity was so unbearable that he'd eventually had to rationalize with himself and give in. Surely, this angel heaven embodied Cas' feelings, not his. Deep down inside, something nagged at him, telling him that this probably wasn't the entire story, but he'd shut that voice down. So he's given in, if only to alleviate the physical pain he was in. He'd poured a third of his reserve in a smaller flask and saved the rest. Then, he'd drunk. Castiel had been waiting for him, sitting on the deck, smiling. He'd felt at peace. However, the relief had been short lived, with Sam yanking back to reality.

While they were away from the bunker, he'd done his best not to imbibe; he simply couldn't risk Sam noticing anything else. Strangely, resisting temptation had proven to be easier. Maybe the knowledge that he would be able to cross over again had been what had kept him going. Or maybe it had been his sense of duty, or the fact that he was occupied. The symptoms had been as bad, but he'd born them with more fortitude, numbing them with alcohol when necessary. He'd almost given in but the thought of being defenseless in front of Jack had stopped him.

And so here he was, hands trembling, sweat on his brow, feeling slightly nauseous, and slightly afraid of what was going to happen on the other side. Was he being selfish? And if yes, which decision was more selfish? He sighed. What was it with the world lately? Things have been so black and white up until now. He pursed his lips. He was being a drama queen. He got up, locked his door, and grabbed the shot glass. He filled three quarters of it. Then, reconsidering, he filled it to the brim. Wedging the teddy bear tightly in his armpit, he reclined.

"Suck it up, buttercup," he muttered


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Dean changed gears and floored the gas pedal. The engine roared. He was way above the speed limit. He didn't give a damn. He was furious. What was Sam thinking? Sending Jody alone in a case like this! And all this to babysit Jack. How many people needed to die for that spawn of Lucifer!? What number would constitute an acceptable sacrifice? He hit the steering wheel. The world had been filled with nothing but anger recently and he couldn't see an end in sight.

He tried to pass a slow car on a double line. The loud horn of an eighteen-wheeler forced him back in his lane, closely avoiding a head on collision. He gripped the steering wheel. He needed to calm down. He would be no use to anyone dead. He took a deep breath but felt no different. He was filled with rage. Somewhere deep inside a voice kept chiming in, telling him that he was overreacting, but he shut it up every time. There was no simply reacting in the world he lived in now.

It took him two hours to bring his anger down to a simmer. He would have loved to get rid of it, but its source was buried too deep. His two last visits to Castiel had led to nothing constructive. Each time, he'd spent a lovely time with the angel, feeling peace like never before. They hadn't had sex, but had come very close to it, enough to leave Dean sexually frustrated and confused upon waking up. The teddy bear had made its appearance towards the end of both visits, sending him in a frenzy to tell everything to Cas and achieving nothing but further upsetting them both. He had tried implementing the lucid dreaming tactics but they hadn't been of much use. He was getting impatient. More importantly, his flask was dangerously low and he hadn't made any progress. He patted his breast pocket, as if reassuring himself that the flask was still there. He knew it would be risky to drink during a case, but he needed this to work and maybe the key was in being consistent.

XXXX

"Sam?" said Jody. "What's up?"  
"Hey, uh, just wanted to let you know that Dean is on his way."  
"Ok… I thought you said you guys were going to sit this one out?"  
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.  
"He got furious when I told him about sending you in alone."  
"Ha! Like I can't handle myself. Anyway, thanks for the heads up."  
There was a pause.  
"Actually, you know what, this is probably for the best," she added.  
"What do you mean?"  
"Well I was going to call you when I got to Omaha but I can tell you now. I think I've figured out what Dean is hooked on."  
Sam held his breath.  
"I was stumped at first, because I couldn't single out one drug and I just couldn't picture Dean taking any of them. But then Claire saw my notes and asked me why I was researching Djinn Juice."  
"Djinn what?"  
"Juice. Djinn Juice. I'm pretty sure it's a slang. She told me that as far as supernatural drugs go, it's one of the most potent and popular. That is, if you have the money to procure it. A liquid ounce can fetch more than a grand, apparently."  
"When you say Djinn, you mean like a Djinn that gives you hallucinations?"  
"If what Claire says is correct, then yes. Apparently it puts you in the same kind of trance a Djinn would but without trapping you in forever. At least at first..."  
Djinn Juice… Suddenly, the image of a decanter containing a large of blue liquid and sitting by the sink of the infirmary came to mind. He tensed.  
"Jody, how much of the stuff do people normally take?" he asked.  
"Ummm, I think maybe half an ounce. Like I said, that stuff is very strong, and highly addictive. Not to mention it can actually kill you."  
"Jody," said Sam, quietly. "Dean has about of quart of that thing."  
Silence.  
"Sam. You need to search his room. Search the whole bunker if you have to. Find his stash and throw it away. If you have books that say how to make the thing, hide them, or better, destroy them. I will try to see if I can search the impala. Chances are he keeps some on his person as well. I will have to figure out a way… Maybe Missouri can help…"

XXXX

Sam sat in the library, head in his hands. He hadn't found anything in Dean's room; he assume he'd taken the juice with him. How much had he already consumed? He'd checked the infirmary, the armoury and the dungeon, just in case another old bottle sat on the shelves just waiting to be discovered. He hadn't found anything. Which was a blessing, of sorts. He'd then hit the library. Unlike Dean, who he assumed had been trying to research the Djinn Juice, Sam knew what he was looking for and, looking at the index, had found an old journal referencing it. The Men of Letters had called the concoction Djinn Elixir and had mainly used it on dying members to ease their passing. He did not, however, find a recipe. Apparently, to avoid addiction, only two people knew the recipe at all times. Before dying, they would passed the knowledge to a member deemed worthy and the cycle would continue for another generation. The entry did briefly mention addiction, but didn't say much about how to wean someone off. Death often seem to be the inevitable conclusion.

What quickly became obvious to Sam was that Dean probably saw their mother or Cas in whatever visions he was having. And knowing his brother, he assumed that he was trying to find a way to bring them back, all the while ignorant of the fact that the visions he was having were all in his head. He sighed. Dealing with this was the last thing he needed right now but at the same time, he couldn't completely condemn Dean for his actions; he had also been looking for ways to bring their loved ones himself.  
"Sam."  
He lifted his voice. Jack stood in the archway, observing him.  
"Hey Jack. Any progress?"  
The youth shook his head dejectedly.  
"You're upset," said Jack, matter-of-factly.  
Sam leaned back on his chair and sighed.  
"I'm fine. Just a little bit tired."  
"You can sleep if you want, Sam. Dean isn't here so I don't need your protection," he added, candidly.  
Sam felt a pang in his heart. Was this what they had come to? He stared a Jack. Although he didn't like to admit it, the young man was right. Maybe this was his chance to truly rest.  
"Alright. Wake me up if you need me."  
Jack smiled. He'd done something good.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8_

Jody sat on her bed in the darkness. The "No Vacancy" neon sign basked her room in a red, hellish glow. The smell of disinfectant failed to cover the musty smell that emanated from the carpet. In her hands, she clutched her picking tools. She could hear the faint sound of television coming from Dean's room. She could tell he wasn't watching. The sound of the shower seeped through the walls of her own bathroom. She waited.

She hated what she was about to do. She had picked locks before. She's been part of a drug bust before. But she had never had to pick locks to carry out a drug bust on a friend who had just saved her life. Yet it needed to be done. She waited.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, all noise ceased in Dean's room. The last thing she heard was the sound of the bed creaking. It was her cue. Slowly, she got up and stepped outside. Closing her door quietly, she looked around quickly. No one. Swiftly, she took her tools out of her kit and started working on Dean's door. It gave away immediately. She turned the knob and gently pushed.

 _Please don't be chained._

It wasn't. Jody stepped in and quickly closed the door behind her. Dean had left the lamp of his nightstand on; it shone just bright enough to show his reclined form. She stood still, waiting to see if he would stir. He didn't. As she had expected, he wasn't asleep; he'd taken a shot of Djinn juice. Although he'd fought as well as usual, she'd notice the feverish redness of his skin, the sheen of sweat on his brow numerous times. His speech had gone back and forth between slow and slurred and quick. A few times, she have sworn that he was hearing voices; he would turn his head quickly, as if someone had called his name. She'd hated to see him like this and had hated even more the idea to let him take the drug once more to allow her to do what she had to do, but there was no other way. She'd considered sneaking in while he was in the shower but didn't want to risk being discovered. Plus there was always the possibility that he would take the juice in the bathroom with him.

She looked to her left. His dirty clothes, soiled in the hunt that had successfully killed the wraith, sat in a pile by the bathroom door. She got close, crouched, and inspected each garment. Nothing. She stepped over the pile and, with a quick glance at Dean, stepped into the bathroom. The door creaked as she closed it slowly, making her cringe. If her hypothesis was correct, however, she had nothing to fear. Still, her heart drummed hard in her chest. She switched on the light and methodically inspected every nook and cranny. It didn't take much time; the place was tiny. Her search yielded nothing. Turning off the light, she opened the door swiftly in the hopes of preventing its hinges from creaking. It barely made a difference.

One by one, she searched all the possible places Dean might have hidden his stash. The whole time, she tried to avoid laying eyes on him. She did not care to come face to face with his vacant expression but in the end, she had to approach the bed. It made sense that he would keep the drug as close as possible. She'd seen the behaviour in many addicts in her career. She stared at her feet as she got closer, battling the feeling that she was intruding on her friend's privacy. Her toes hit the base of the bed. She looked up. She gasped. She averted her gaze, then looked at at him again. His eyes were wide open, staring straight at the ceiling, yet it was clear that whatever they saw were not in this realm. She shuddered.

"I'm never going to be able to erase that image. Thanks, Dean," she said under her breath.

For some reason, it suddenly all felt very funny. She bit her lip, stifling a laugh. She took a deep breath.

 _Come on, now. This is hardly the time for giggles._

Gingerly, she lifted his blanket. She dropped it immediately and squeezed her eyes shut. Dean was naked.

 _Don't think it. Don't think it. Don't think it._

Naked and fully erected.

You had to go and think it.

She shook her head. She was feeling very hot all of a sudden. Was she blushing?

 _Focus._

She took a deep breath and resumed her search. She found nothing under the pillow either. She took a small flashlight out of her pocket and kneeled to look under the bed. A flash of silver. Something metallic wedged between the mattress and the box-spring caught the light. She pulled it out. It was a small flask. Quickly, she opened it and illuminated its content. Blue liquid.

 _Bingo._

 _XXXX_

The first rays of the sun shone over the horizon. Some birds chirped in the distance. From time to time, a car zoomed by. Sitting on her bed, she waited. The flask sat on the small table by the window, empty. She had tried to sleep, but adrenaline had kept her awake. Had she done the right thing? As she had poured the blue liquid down the drain, she had thought about what this elixir might have revealed to her. Would she have seen her husband and son? Sometimes the life she'd had with them seemed so remote and alien that she couldn't believe she had actually been the one living it. Or maybe she would have seen her girls, both well-adjusted and doing well in school, none of the trauma having happened. She of course had soon realised that it made no sense; she had her girls because of the trauma. But maybe logic didn't matter in those transes, maybe it was what made them even harder to escape. And so her mind had gone in circles for hours.

She heard the sound of Dean's mattress creaking under his shifting weight. She followed his footsteps to the bathroom then back. She gave him enough time to dress. He would then start to pack. And maybe he would then realise that he was missing his flask. She waited.

Dean opened the door, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans.

"Already all packed?" he asked, with a forced smile.

The sight of his naked chest reminded her of his supine naked body. She felt heat rise to her head.

"We need to talk."

She pushed passed him and into the room.

"Erh… okay?"

He closed the door. She took one of the chairs and flipped it around, intent on sitting astride it, but thought better of it and flipped it back; she needed to be in a position of offense, not defense. Dean grabbed a t-shirt from his bag and slipped it on.

"You look well…"

He looked at her, an eyebrow cocked.

"...all things considered," she added before he could say a word.

He paused for a split second then shrugged.

"It was just a routine fight. No biggy."

"This is not what I mean, Dean."

She grabbed the flask from the inner pocket of her jacket and showed it to him.

" _This_ is what I mean."

She saw his face change, reflecting, if just for a moment, his inner conflicting dialogue. She waited for him to settle on an answer.

"Did Sam put you up to this?" he asked, trying to sound calm but his voice betraying his anger.

"I did talk with Sam, yes. But this is not a planned intervention. You're the one who insisted on coming all the way here."

"Does it mean I can have my stuff back, then?" he asked, tentatively.

She shook her head.

"You can have the flask, but it's empty."

"God dammit!" roared Dean, punching a nearby dresser.

She jumped. Adrenaline coursed in her veins.

 _Remain calm. Don't engage._

"This might have been my only chance to bring him back! I was making progress, for fuck's sake!"

He paced furiously. She got up.

"Dean…"

He ignored her.

"I was close. I could feel it! Now there is no way I can bring him back!" his screamed.

The guests in the next room over banged on the wall and yelled something unintelligible. Dean didn't seem to hear.

"Dean calm down…" tried Jody.

"This is all Jack's fault. All of it! Had he never been born, we'd never have lost Crowley, Mom, and Cas! I should have killed him when I had the chance!."

"Dean!" She shouted.

He turned to face her, as if hearing her for the first time.

"Dean, do you hear the words that are coming out of your mouth?"

He stared, puzzled.

"When did you start to be so negative? The Dean I know would never say something like this. You've always been about doing what is right."

"Well things have changed," he objected, wiping sweat off his brow.

"You've lost people dear to you, yes, but the world is still the same. I know it hurts, Dean, trust me, I do, but you can't go on like this."

"Jody, you don't get it. That thing, it was acting as a gateway! It…"

"That thing is a drug, Dean! Nothing more than a drug!"

Her words hung in the air between them.

"That can't be right. I mean…" he replied, weakly.

She sighed, sadness in her eyes.

"It's a supernatural drug. It's called Djinn Juice and it's made from God knows what part of a Djinn."

"Djinn…?" he said.

"It creates hallucinations, a dream world, just like a Djinn would. It's highly addictive and dangerous. It can kill you in the long run, if you let it."

He stared at her, then at the flask in her hands.

"So it was all… All in my head?"

She nodded.

"I'm sorry, Dean. Whatever you saw in those visions, it wasn't Cas. It was a figment of your imagination, a fantasy."

The room spun. He sat down on the bed.

"All in my head."

She walked up to the bed and sat next to him.

"Yes. I'm so sorry. And I don't want to, but I have to ask: was this all you had of the stuff? Do you have more stashed somewhere else?"

He thought for a moment, deciding whether lying was worth it or not. He decided it wasn't.

"I do have more."

"Can you tell me where it is, so I or Sam can get rid of it?"

He shook his head. He felt slightly nauseous.

"If this is a drug, like you say, then it would be easy for me to get more on the dark web or through our network. Trust me, I wasn't taking this drug for the fun of it."

 _Liar._

Cas' voice. Only he heard it.

She pinched her lips.

"You understand why it's hard for me to trust you?

He nodded slowly, staring at the wall straight in front of him.

"I know. But I won't touch the stuff anymore. I… It won't help me accomplish my purpose. Trust me, it's somewhere safe. And it'll stay there."

"You understand I will have to tell Sam?"

He nodded anew.

"It's ok. It's not going to change anything, tho. I've taken my decision."

"I'm glad."

They remained silent for a while. Then he suddenly turned to face her.

"Wait. How did you get the flask?"

She turned beet red.


End file.
